


Light Work

by TheIntelligentHufflepuff



Category: Captain America (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Steve Rogers, Crossover, Families of Choice, Fluff, Friendship, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Mission Fic, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIntelligentHufflepuff/pseuds/TheIntelligentHufflepuff
Summary: Steve and Bucky get together. It's simple, really: all it takes is an intergalactic kidnapping.





	1. Disintegration

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a pun on the phrase 'many hands make light work', for reasons which will soon become clear. There might be some minor spoilers for Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 at some point in this, but I'll try to avoid them. There might also be some spoilers for the Young Avengers (2013) comics, but I'm altering them a bit to fit into the MCU so there shouldn't be too many (which also means if you haven't read the comics you should be fine). As for this chapter specifically, I apologise for the overuse of cliches but there was nothing to be done. Enjoy!

If there was one thing Bucky Barnes would never understand about the twenty-first century, it’d be packaging. Firstly, barely any of it was made out of recognisable materials. Secondly, even if the materials were recognisable, they came covered in about a hundred symbols which he had to decipher before throwing the thing away, most of which came to the conclusion that he could recycle the item but only sometimes. Thirdly, nothing could just _say what the goddamned thing was._ They had to tell you the origin of every single molecule, _serving suggestions_ like he didn’t know what he could put on a freaking cracker, _use by dates_ like that bore any relevance to whether something was safe to eat or not. In fact, Bucky would go so far as to say that it wasn’t packaging anymore so much as a bloody user manual.

 

“Ugh!” he spat, slamming the pedal on the bin passionately.

 

Steve cackled loudly, the sound carrying easily through the safe house’s thin walls, before calling out  “It’s not _that_ bad!”

 

“Shut up!” Bucky called back, feeling free to tease on account of the fact that only he and Steve were in the house: Bucky because he’d been summarily relegated (except in cases of extreme emergency) from active duty until he had completed Wanda’s prescribed course of recovery, Steve because he happened to be the member of their band of Wakanda-sponsored renegades that was elected to watch Bucky in case he went crazy while they were out.

 

“I’m pathologically incapable of shutting up and you know it!” Steve bounced back.

 

Smiling, Bucky retorted “A pathological liar maybe.”

 

“I’ll have you know I always tell the truth!”

 

Bucky snorted as he plucked the two mugs of coffee off the counter with his flesh hand, then picked the popcorn up with his metal one. Granted, Steve- bless him- could never manage to outright lie to his _friends,_ but that by no means stopped him from twisting the truth if he found it necessary, or from spouting any amount of BS to his enemies. Quite frankly Bucky found the idea that Steve would never lie hilarious, especially considering the kind of operations the Howling Commandos performed during the war. Bucky stepped out into the living room, words to that effect on the tip of his tongue, just in time to watch the window implode.

 

For a nanosecond, Bucky froze. His mind caught on the glass shards billowing out from the shattered pane like petals, transposing a hundred different explosions on top; memories welling to the surface thanks to the intensive wonders Wanda wrought, useless to him now. Steve swore loudly, bringing Bucky back to the present.

 

Instinct kicked in.

 

Tossing the snacks away, Bucky dove for the gun strapped to the underside of the coffee table, throwing his metal arm up to shield himself from the hail of bullets tracking his movement across the room. _Shit_. Just as Bucky was about to really panic, the bullets paused- whether it was simply the attacker adjusting their aim or not, he took his opportunity to flip the coffee table on its side. Hunkered down behind his makeshift barricade, Bucky looked frantically to his left, thankful to find Steve similarly huddled behind the arm of the sofa.

 

 _We're not dead yet_ , Bucky thought in a voice that sounded suspiciously similar to how Steve's was when a situation was so FUBAR that breathing was a positive miracle.

 

“Are you okay?” The actual Steve mouthed.

 

Bucky nodded, and was about to return the question when the air was engulfed by a shrill screeching. That was all the warning Bucky had before a strange, diamond shaped charge landed on the carpet in front of him and exploded, pushing him through the air with a concussive force. He landed hard, rolling uncontrollably until he slammed into the back wall with a crash.

 

“Bucky!” Steve barked, moving towards him out of cover. Idiot.

 

“‘M okay.” Bucky grunted, pushing himself off the wall with a wince and trying vainly to wave Steve back. It was no use. Steve was already halfway across the room, crouched low but- given the glowing blue projectile that flew through the shattered windowpane- still in the shooter’s line of sight. Steve noticed the blue bullet at the same time Bucky did, managing to scramble far enough away to avoid being hit in centre mass but not quite avoiding it entirely. As Bucky watched, the projectile hit Steve's ankle and burrowed _into_ it, straight through the bone. Steve hissed, and under normal circumstances Bucky may have taken a moment to mourn the ways through which Steve's pain resistance was built, but as it was Bucky was preoccupied with the ethereal glow swiftly spreading up Steve's leg. Steve noticed it too; or rather felt it if the anguished expression on his face was anything to go by.

 

 _“_ No.” Bucky snarled, grabbing onto Steve as if that would keep him safe. There was only one thing he knew that glowed blue and killed people, and he refused to allow the Tesseract to take anything else from him “ _No.”_

 

“Buck-” Steve panted, eyes wide in terror as he watched the blue death pick up speed, spreading across his body like a fever, crystallising limbs in its wake “Bucky, I-” Steve cut himself off with a scream, back arching and body contorting like a marionette on tangled strings, jerking himself out of Bucky's grasp.

 

“Steve!” Bucky shrieked, panic pulsing past all reason, all thought drowned out by the ringing sound of Steve’s agonised screams: a detestable symphony it was Bucky's horrible honour to hear.

 

Steve's eyes closed. And then he disintegrated.

 

* * *

 

When Bucky came back to himself, it was to the sound of Natasha's voice. Urgent. Insistent. Terse.

 

“Barnes.”

 

Touch came next. Hardwood floors, rough under his hands where he’d seemed to catch himself. The grip of a gun, rubbery and comforting, conforming to his callouses like a lover.

 

“ _Barnes.”_

 

Sight. The safe house living room, wrecked. Natasha, Sam, Wanda, and Clint stood around him, concern and vigilance  wrought into their features. The complete absence of a sixth member.

 

“Bucky,” Sam said, softly as if Bucky was a cornered animal he was afraid might strike “Where’s Steve?”

 

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, but only a dry croak came out. Understandable, considering the length of time he must have been knelt there. He coughed once, and tried again “Gone.”

 

Wanda audibly stifled a gasp.

 

“Gone?” Sam asked, cautiously alarmed “What do mean gone?”

 

“He-”

 

“Hang on.” Clint interrupted. The others turned to look at him. He shrugged “He’s kneeling on the floor. Steve's not here. Clearly, something serious happened. Do we not want to at least take a seat? Maybe have some vodka?”

 

“No vodka.” Natasha decreed. She held her hand out to help Bucky up “But we could take a seat.”

 

Bucky took her hand, blood flowing into his calves in a rush as he stumbled to the sofa. Once everyone was seated, Sam fishing a kitchen chair out of the rubble, Bucky began to explain in dull tones what had happened. The ex-Avengers listened carefully, brows puckered and mouths tight in a mixture of concern and analysis.

For a moment, silence reigned.

 

Then Natasha asked “How do you know he's dead?”

 

“Don't.” Bucky croaked. Even as Natasha said the words he could feel hope beating on his ribcage, desperate and dangerous “Don't tempt me.”

 

“You're trained enough to know better than to jump to conclusions. Stop freaking out and get a grip, or leave.” Natasha snapped, angry and... _oh._ Scared. “We’re not giving him up for dead until we’ve checked every single possibility.”

 

“Totally.” Sam agreed; a soldier’s voice, followed by echos of assent from the others.

 

“But…” Bucky couldn't help but say “What if he _is_ dead.”

 

“Then we’ll have tried.” Clint replied “We’re still pretty much Avengers, Barnes, and we don't leave family behind.”

 

“Okay.” Bucky breathed “Okay.”

 

“Now,” Natasha asked “How do you know it was the Tesseract?”

 

“It was blue, it glowed, and it did weird shit.”

 

“So does Tony’s arc reactor.” Wanda pointed out “And that's got nothing to do with the Tesseract.”

 

“So basically it could be anything.” Sam offered dryly.

 

Bucky winced. Calmed by the presence of four terrifyingly capable superheroes, a creeping shame for his own breach in confidence was building up inside him. It wasn't enough to outweigh the slithering fear that came from not knowing if Steve was safe- or even, God forbid, alive- but it was certainly sufficient to make some not-so- long buried part of him itch in anticipation of punishment. But there wasn't time for that. They needed- _he_ needed- to find Steve. Even if it was just to bring his body home.

 

“I might be wrong,” He admitted “But that just means we need to work out what the blue light was.”

 

“Attaboy.” Sam said under his breath. Bucky ignored him.

 

“You think of options.” Natasha commanded, once again taking the lead “I’ll contact Stark.”

 

“Stark?” Bucky questioned.

 

“Yes, Stark.” Natasha confirmed, sounding put upon “Who else apart from government agencies is gonna have the tech to search for Steve?”

 

“Fair enough.” Bucky conceded.

 

With a nod to the group as a whole, Natasha strode out.

 

“So…” Clint said, in his own slightly sardonic tone “Has anyone got any paper?”


	2. Barring Other Circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If my Victorian-author-paid-by-the-word approach to commas makes this completely unreadable, or you notice any other glaring and/or minor flaws, please let me know as it isn't beta'd. Thank you, and enjoy :)

For what felt like an eternity, all Steve knew was pain. Searing across his nerve endings, ripping through his head, pounding deep in his muscles, burning in the marrow of his bones, flickering like a lightning storm across the eyelids he screwed shut. Pain worse than the torture he’d endured in the war, worse than what he felt in the vita ray chamber, worse even than the complete collapse of his heart on that train in the Swiss alps. Pain so intense and so inescapable that for a moment, Steve genuinely believed he was going to die. 

 

Until all of a sudden the pain stopped and was replaced by a soothing blanket of complete and utter darkness. With a sigh of relief, Steve let himself be taken.

* * *

 

Some time later, he woke up. 

* * *

 

Steve opened his eyes to what looked for all the world like the inside of a shipping container, walls composed of a rusting corrugated metal and floor a smoother version of the same. The only thing that made Steve fairly sure he hadn't been stuffed in a crate was the wall of bars in front of him, separating him from the utilitarian corridor running parallel to what must have been a cell.

 

He’d been kidnapped, then. But by who? And how? The last thing he remembered except the pain was being hit by what felt like some kind of poison. Which meant that he either lost some memories, or whoever took him took him whilst unconscious. But that would have meant getting up close, and fighting off Bucky, which just wasn't consistent with the style of attack their assailant used.  _ Wait, Bucky!  _ Steve lurched to his feet, barely taking a moment to register the mysterious lack of the pain that had been so all consuming moments ago. He crossed to the wall of bars, and touched a finger to the first one cautiously. When he was neither electrocuted nor repelled, he gripped the bar more firmly and shook it roughly. Though it didn't move perceptibly, Steve got the impression that it wasn't exactly entrenched in the floor. Feeling cautiously encouraged, Steve moved swiftly along the row, identifying weak points in between glances up and down the metallic corridor. If his gaoler was worth their salt, they'd realise something was up at any second. 

 

Sure enough, the instant Steve mounted an earnest assault on the bars, the silence of the corridor was disrupted by the echoing clatter of heavy footsteps advancing quickly from his right. He had two options; either stop now and case out his captors, or carry on and try to take them by surprise. The latter may be his only chance to escape for quite some time, and with Bucky’s life potentially on the line, speed was of the essence. Add that to the fact that his captors had clearly underestimated his capabilities, and the defendants for immediate escape presented a compelling case. 

 

Bolstered by a surge of pre-fight adrenaline, Steve heaved on the weakest bar, teeth grit to stifle a grunt. Though his muscles ached and strained against his bones, the stress he applied to the metal soon overwhelmed it, snapping it like a strand of spaghetti. The entire process took no more than a few seconds, and the advancing boots had slowed in caution as their owner saw their captive breaking apart what- Steve suspected- was meant to be an impenetrable defence. Their mistake. By the time the captor entered Steve’s periphery, he had already ripped open a sufficient hole to squeeze through. 

 

As his opponent entered his line of sight, Steve stood at the ready and waited. 

 

Their figure was tall and lithe. Like most henchmen Steve had encountered, this one was dressed in some kind of leatherette jumpsuit, plain, their facial features concealed by a smooth helmet. When they registered Steve simply standing there, arms loose at his sides, they faltered. Evidently not an organisation prone to investing a lot in training underlings, despite the proficiency of their hit-person. 

 

Slowly, driven by curiosity or caution, the guard drifted closer until nothing stood between Steve and them but the shell of the cell. Steve struck, dropping down to whisk a broken bar at the guard’s feet, knocking them off balance, hoisting himself up to swing from the crossbar in almost the same movement. Before the guard could recover themselves, Steve’s feet slammed into their chest, knocking them back against the opposite wall with  impressive force. Moving fast, Steve entered the hallway. The guard, miraculously, was still conscious- albeit not moving anywhere fast. Placing a foot on their chest to pin them in place, Steve reached down and yanked the helmet off. What he found was a face that would have looked entirely human had it not been for the eyes, which glowed a vibrant violet and were split straight down the middle by stark black vertical pupils. Only years of experience prevented Steve from dropping the guard in shock. As it was, he barely had the presence of mind to check their jaw for cyanide- none present- before he knocked them out once and for all. 

 

Down to business. The situation as Steve saw it was thus: his kidnappers did not understand his capabilities, they did not wear or decorate with any particular symbol, they did not use cyanide. They either employed or- Steve's stomach turned-  _ created  _ people with preternatural traits and/or abilities. Therefore- if the weight of the former points outweighed the evidence of the latter- Steve could reasonably assume he had not been taken by Hydra. 

 

Which only left the task of ascertaining where on Earth he was and who on Earth had him. 

 

The first thing Steve did was to arm himself with the heftiest of the broken bars. He would likely have been fine without it, his body being what it was, but the weight of it in his hand was distinctly comforting in place of the shield he'd given up. Next came the task of investigating the facility, the most important thing being to free anyone else he might find. Luckily, the cell Steve was in appeared to be the last in a long chain; it was easy to jog along them, checking each one for occupants before moving onto the next. Some he found opened, some closed but seemingly empty: none containing any of his friends. That, at least, was some comfort. 

 

Satisfied that he wouldn't be leaving anyone behind, Steve continued his investigations. As he stole further down the corridor, a small blinking light embedded in the joint between the wall and the ceiling caught his eye. A camera. It's presence sent an uneasy trilling off in his mind, not because a camera meant being seen but because his captors weren't doing anything about it.

_ That _ meant they were either biding their time, or just waiting for Steve to fall into a trap. His suspicions were confirmed almost the instant they were conceived; he’d reached a dead end. Pulse elevated, Steve spun on his heels and cantered back down the corridor, slowing only when he approached his cell. The guard was still lying there immobile, but that wasn't what Steve was paying attention to. 

 

There was an adjacent corridor ahead and a camera blinking down in front of him. 

 

To catch him now would be ridiculously easy- it wasn't as if he could fend off an attack on two sides alone, and if they had enough people to overwhelm him it would be child’s play to corner him against the dead end. For a moment, Steve was sorely tempted to put his hands up and hope his captors were forgiving tyrants. But that would put his fate in others’ hands and although he trusted his teammates with his life, that wasn't a burden he wanted to lay on them again. Especially considering the fact that doing anything not proven to benefit Wakanda would put their tenuous arrangement with the Accords Council at risk. 

 

The stakes were not in Steve's favour, but he’d faced worse before. 

 

He stepped forwards. 

 

Instead of the brutal assault he’d been expecting, all Steve found was a stretch of empty corridor, silent under the watchful gaze of the security cameras. 

 

This was not the trap they’d chosen, then. 

 

Steve had few options other than to move on, muscles tensed and senses taught. The eerie stillness of the facility persisted, dogging his steps with paranoia. From time to time he heard a technological thrum, but otherwise the only sound was his own footsteps rebounding off the metallic walls. Quickly, he advanced out of the prison part of the facility and into the technical quarters, passing generator rooms and kitchens all- upon careful inspection- utterly deserted.  _ Where is everyone?  _ He asked himself, the question ghosting straight to his primal senses and quickening his feet. A locker room, devoid of its users. A storeroom, housing nothing but plastic crates. Nobody anywhere, despite all the signs indicative of human life. 

Something was deeply wrong. 

 

Wrestling with his increasing agitation, Steve ploughed into what looked like a major thoroughfare, decorated at one end with a bizarre tapestry. He would’ve simply dismissed it as an attempt to increase morale or impress inspectors, if it didn’t flash. After checking that he truly was alone, Steve drew closer to the panel. Perhaps inappropriately, he found himself hoping that it didn’t hide some kind of weapon or command interface purely because the image it captured-  a bold, dark satin sky, adorned with blinking diamonds and the hazy breath of pastel whorls- was too beautiful to be associated with any evil. Thankfully, the picture didn’t try to shoot him. Nor did it light up with a handy display when he touched the glass. 

 

The glass that, now Steve thought again, was suspiciously similar to a porthole. His heart lurched. He stumbled back. 

  
He really hoped the conclusion he’d come to was wrong. 


	3. Heights of Introspection

Natasha was gone for what amounted to a grand total of 35 minutes. In that time paper was found, pens were primed, and the entire group of them succeeded in creating a list of blue light possibilities that was, sadly, most likely the best they could do. Essentially, it boiled down to:   
Loki _(somehow)_   
Chitauri _(back for another round?)_   
Loki and Chitauri _(oh God why)_   
Magic _(unspecified)_   
Optical illusions _(also unspecified)_   
  
It wasn't a hopeful prospect, and the feeling of apprehension it inspired was only increased by the tight look on Natasha's face when she returned. Standing at a slightly looser form of parade rest, she surveyed their ideas expressionlessly.    
  
Once she was satisfied, she looked up and said “There's been a complication.”    
  
Bucky's stomach clenched, though he wasn't exactly surprised. Nothing was ever simple for him.    
  
“Tony says he won't do it, unless we hand Barnes over to him.”    
  
Bucky stared at her, trying to judge if she was exaggerating or if there was more, if she felt anything about it at all. As the others aired their opinions- Bucky adding a few interesting Sokovian swear words to his vocabulary as a result- Natasha met his eyes. Surrounded by a bubble of righteous indignation, she raised one sardonic eyebrow. A somewhat surprising act of companionship, from one world-weary ex assassin to another. Bucky was starting to see why Steve liked her so much.    
  
And Wanda. He could definitely see some core elements of Steve in Wanda.    
  
“...a private citizen he cannot exert the power his money gives him to circumvent the law! And pressuring someone to give up their civil liberties is pretty much equal to kidnapping them. How dare he!”    
  
Bucky smiled briefly. He was learning that Wanda got eloquent when she was pissed, whereas Clint just vented in incoherent bursts. Honestly it was flattering that they cared, even if Bucky suspected the root of their frustration was at the hindrance to finding Steve. That, he could sympathise with.    
  
“What are we going to do about it?” Sam eventually asked, bringing their meeting back on track.    
  
He addressed the question to Natasha, who shrugged and said “Pursue other methods. Tony's a stubborn son of a bitch, so it's not like we can change his mind, and handing Barnes over would just be counterproductive. Knowing Tony he could be planning to run a search anyway. Besides, I talked to T’Challa’s PA and she’ll notify him as soon as possible, so we need to pack up.”    
  
“Pack up?” Bucky parroted, feeling ten steps behind again.    
  
Natasha's eyebrows lifted; she appraised him before answering “We need to move, this safe-house has been compromised. I thought a man like you might have already realised.”    
  
“I don't know if you remember, but usually I was the one doing the compromising.” Bucky felt himself say, heart far from in it.    
  
Natasha hummed, then exchanged a pointed glance with Sam. A decision made, she suggested (not unkindly) that Bucky keep watch on the roof as the others got packed up. As he retreated, Bucky distinctly heard Clint complaining about the coffee stains in the carpet.    
  


* * *

  
  
Bucky couldn't say for certain that the building didn't have roof access before it was turned into a safe house, but if it did he had to call the aesthetic tastes of the designer into question. The area where one could safely perch was small and dank, facing out towards nothing but grim office blocks and a few older houses that were slowly decaying, severed from the leafy suburb of which they had once been a part. It was the kind of place where neighbours regarded each other with deep suspicion and the few unlucky office workers never ventured out for lunch. In other words, despite the fact that the office blocks had evidently provided a sufficient vantage point for their mysterious sniper, perfect for a safe house that was in reality more of a hide-out. Especially if your leader was particularly concerned about civilian safety.    
  
At the thought of Steve, Bucky's heart clenched. He went to check the time on his phone for something to do- a habit he'd picked up from sheer proximity to the people of the twenty-first century- but stopped himself. He knew what he'd find if he woke up the screen: a selfie he took with Steve at Wanda's insistence, cropped carefully so that Steve's smiling face took up the majority of the screen while just enough of Bucky remained for it to be considered strictly platonic. It was cliched, maybe, but Bucky was a hopeless romantic when it came to Steve, and the lockscreen went some way to replacing the print photo he’d carried in his breast pocket during the war.    
  
He’d guarded that picture religiously, almost as fiercely as he'd fought to protect the real thing. In retrospect it was irrational, while at the same time it made a weird kind of sense. Bucky’d always taken strength from the immense well of Steve's own, so it was only natural to want to keep at least some trace of him close.    
  
“You can come down now, if you're ready.” Natasha said, poking her head through the hatch to the roof.    
  
Bucky refused to admit that he jumped, but he was somewhat startled. Natasha snorted “I don't know whether to be disappointed that this has thrown you off your game so much, or pleased.”    
  
“Why would you be pleased?” Bucky asked, disgruntled.    
  
Natasha took a step up the ladder, and her torso emerged. She shrugged “Shows you do actually care about Steve. Confirms a few theories.”    
  
That sounded ominous. Bucky decided to tackle the stupid side of it first “‘Course I care about him.” He cared about practically nothing more.    
  
It was possible that Natasha allowed herself a light chuckle, then muttered something that sounded suspiciously similar to ‘peas in a pod’, but it may just have been the wind.    
  
“What are your theories?” Bucky prompted, determined that Natasha wouldn’t wriggle out of that one.    
  
“That they didn’t let you on solo missions. And that they kept you drugged, I’d guess on depressants. It’d explain your lack of knowledge about safe-house procedures: once you were in one you just did what you were told, and paid attention to what you were told.” Natasha supplied, a half-answer if there ever was one.    
  
Suspicious, Bucky attempted to glare Natasha into admitting what she didn’t want to, but to no avail. Expertly sidestepping the conversation, she said “Worked out where the shooter was?”    
  
Giving his attempt for investigation up as a loss, Bucky relinquished his report.    
  
“The office block opposite. Second floor window, probably either the fourth or fifth from the left.”    
  
“That’s what I thought.” Natasha confirmed, gracing Bucky with a congratulatory nod.    
  
“You’re being nice to me.” he blurted.    
  
Natasha refused to be ruffled, at least visibly, instead opting to pull herself up out of the hatch and maneuver until she could sit semi-comfortably besides Bucky.    
  
“I don’t have a reason not to anymore.”    
  
Bucky nodded “Because we’re on the same team.”    
  
“That, and because you’re no longer a threat.”    
  
Bucky rolled his eyes, glancing to the darkening sky in exasperation “People keep saying that, but there’s no proof all the triggers really have gone.”    
  
“Not like that.” Natasha said, voice laced with an undertone of mild offence “I’ll always be paranoid about that. I mean you’ve stopped trying to destroy Steve emotionally. And physically.”    
  
Embarrassingly, Bucky found that his reaction to such an accusation was to whip around and stare.    
  
“Trying to destroy him?” he echoed incredulously.    
  
“Evidently you didn’t think about it like that.” Natasha observed dryly “Whatever your intentions, you hurt him. And your involvement in the Accords mess compromised him; it might not have been so bad if you weren’t there.”    
  
Somehow hearing it expressed in another voice straight to his face stung more than all the times Bucky’d admitted the exact same thing to himself. Still, Natasha continued:   
  
“On the other hand, you make him smile, and you make him young. So I’ll forgive you. Just don’t fuck up again.”    
  
Bucky had to admit, he’d never been forgiven and threatened simultaneously before. It was an interesting experience, but what stood out to Bucky was the absolute certainty with which Natasha talked about a future with Steve in it.   
  
“Do you think we’ll find him?” Bucky asked.    
  
“Eventually.”    
  
At least that gave Bucky some comfort. But there was something else he needed to clarify before he could gain peace of mind “We’ll try our best?”    
  
“Of course,” Natasha scoffed “It’s what we do.”    
  
Bucky glanced at her. There was something in her tone, a manufactured harshness or a scripted feeling to the words, that led Bucky to think that once again Natasha wasn’t telling the entire truth. Their eyes met; something shifted in Natasha’s and she seemed to reach a resolution.    
  
“We all love him.” she declared, erring to the side of a challenge “And I never had a brother before.”    
  
A discordant cacophony of joy and pride, resentment and jealousy burst into Bucky’s chest, splashing out into the expression on his face. Natasha’s hands twitched ever so slightly- a tell, Bucky suspected, that she’d reached her boundary of emotional expression for the day. Saving them both from further embarrassment, Bucky disentangled his limbs and stood. With what he hoped was a charming turn of phrase, he suggested they return downstairs to do what Natasha came to retrieve him for. Just as Natasha’s head became level with the hatch, she opened her mouth as if to say more. Bucky stilled his own low-level fidgeting, but Natasha simply shook her head and carried on.


	4. Mythbuster

Space. 

 

The word rang in Steve's head like a fire alarm. He tried to tell himself he was wrong, that he wasn't in space at all, but the suggestion rang hollow even in his head. For one the second porthole in front of him, two corridors away from the first, stood as indisputable proof, presenting the prospect not only of the darkened world outside but of another wing of the installation. For another, Steve had to ask himself if- in a world of gods and monsters- extraterrestrial travel really was such a stretch? And was it really, given his backstory, all that unlikely that he'd be the one to experience it? Steve couldn't help but feel that the answer to that was ‘no’. 

 

_ Space.  _

 

“I can deal with this.” He muttered, casting around to think of a way to deal with it. 

 

His eyes fell once more on the blinking surveillance lights. In the shock of his revelation, he’d almost forgotten he was continually being watched. Considering it now, it became clear to Steve that instead of being herded towards a trap, he was already in one. His captors were just there to see how he reacted. The thought wasn't comforting but it at least indicated some trepidation on his captors’ part; and that suggested that he might be able to salvage the upper hand. All he had to do was outwit them. 

 

He started walking again, no real intention in mind except to make himself a moving target and give himself some leeway to think. As he did, he began to notice the air’s unpolluted thinness and the distinct lack of currents in it; factors that would be consistent with a deeply buried bunker, but made even more sense in the context of a space vessel. 

 

Space. 

 

As the reality of his situation set in, Steve began to feel a tingle of childish excitement. He was in space, amongst the stars, in a wild new world (in enemy territory, but he'd ignore that part). It felt as if he'd stepped into the fantasies of martians and planets that Bucky always loved to read, and that Steve always loved to illustrate- both of them filled with hope and a primal terror all at once. Unfortunately excitement didn't mean he didn't have to find a way to escape. 

 

Casting his mind for some frame of reference, Steve edged along another corridor, back brushing against the metal panelling. It was different here, bolted into place with rivets the size of a two pound coin almost like in a seaborne ship. He was familiar with those, couldn't not be after the time he spent living and serving in them en route to assist in North Africa during the war.  _ Focus  _ Steve reminded himself again; he wouldn't say that he  _ couldn't  _ multitask, but there was a distinct difference between banter which served the purpose of allowing him to keep track of his team, and introspective musings which positively detracted from his awareness of the situation. 

 

Steve continued. Time stretched on in a thousand languid drops of pulse and pacing. Still he encountered nothing to alleviate the humming silence, no further sign of life. No further sign, that is, until he turned a corner and came face to face with what could only be described as a minotaur. Steve could only have hesitated for a second to take in the colossal curve of its head and the wicked glint of its horns, the inhumane musculature of its hairy chest, but that second was enough. Before Steve could so much as raise his metal bar, the minotaur lunged, head down, intent on gouging him in the stomach with its horns. There was no way to outrun the beast, the corridor too narrow to dodge it. On impulse, Steve braced himself against the floor and grabbed the minotaur’s horns, twisting his torso to slot between them. Even so, the sheer brute force of it pushed Steve back, feet skidding against the tractionless floor. With a hot snarl that would haunt Steve’s nightmares, the minotaur wrenched its head out of his grasp, coming dangerously close to piercing the delicate underside of his jaw. Steve staggered back. The minotaur followed, winding him succinctly with one punch to the ribs. Clutching his bar, Steve dove forwards, swinging wildly for the neck or the eyes, praying incoherently that his unregulated hit would land. It did. But the minotaur barely blinked, taking advantage of Steve’s proximity to wrap one gigantic hand around his throat and lift him off his feet. Steve’s vision narrowed to the strip of ceiling he could see as his head lolled back, pulse thumping heavily against the minotaur’s grasp. Flailing his legs, Steve tried to kick the minotaur in the head, but it simply dodged, gracelessly manoeuvering out of the reach of Steve’s bar too. The pressure on Steve’s throat gradually increased, and the sick feeling of being on the brink of undetermined darkness took root in his stomach. The last thing Steve felt was the jarring pain of his wrist being broken,the last thing he heard the resounding clang of his bar falling to the floor. 

 

* * *

 

It said a lot about Steve’s life that when he came to, he wasn’t in the least surprised to find his ankles shackled and his hands tied around a pole behind his back. What was a little disconcerting was the fact that he had obviously been moved out of the space vessel. From under the fabric of the sack over his head, he could detect that the air carried the unfiltered stench of a seedy city, his limbs felt weighted with a different gravity, and- even more tellingly- there was no busy hum of machinery underpinning the quiet. There were, however, voices. Steve kept still, trying not to let on that he was awake, as he listened intently. Through what he supposed must have sheer dumb luck, the conversation seemed to be taking place in a language closely resembling English, enough so that he could pick out the thread of it between the garbled words he didn’t know.  _ Payment  _ one was saying, in a voice that shushed like a velvet snake,  _ soon. Now,  _ came another, joined in its indignation by a third. The first again, placatingly, talking about  _ quality.  _ Steve thought he might have an idea of where this was going, and he had to say he didn’t like it. Just as he was about to start testing the strength of the bonds tying his wrists, the sack over his head was ripped off. 

 

Steve squinted against the glare. When he opened his eyes again, it was to the sight of a vast warehouse filled with stacks of transparent tanks, each emitting harsh illumination. With a dawning sense of horror, Steve looked more closely and saw that each and every one of the tanks contained a living thing: warriors clad in alien armour, strange horned animals, tiny humanoid creatures with bright blue snouts. Heart in his mouth, he turned his gaze to the people at a safe distance in front of him. Two people wearing similar jumpsuits to the guard and minotaur on the ship stood to the left, helmets off and looking somehow irritated despite their fish mouths and lack of eyebrows. Hovering to the right was a young looking pink girl in a starched white uniform, gaze turned submissively to the floor, hands clenched around the sack. And in the centre, king of the court, posed a white haired man wearing the most ostentatious leather and fur coat Steve had ever laid eyes on. 

 

He immediately hated him. 

 

“He’s awake.” the man proclaimed, sashaying forwards in the cockiest way possible. Steve instantly recognised his voice as the velvet snake. He glared at him.

 

Ignoring the look trying to kill him, the man continued “Good-day. I am The Collector, but you will call me ‘sir’.” The Collector, who in Steve’s opinion had a stupid name, half turned to glance significantly at Steve’s captors “Now, I’m going to ask you some questions.” 

“Who are you?” 

 

Steve looked at him dispassionately. 

 

“Are you human?” 

 

Steve blinked. 

 

“Are you Captain America?” The Collector asked, irritation quickly beginning to show.  A man used to getting what he wanted, then. The pink girl stared at Steve with wide eyes. 

 

“Answer me!” The Collector snapped, then turned to two in jumpsuits “Make him answer me, or you’ll not get a single credit.” 

 

_ That  _ spurred them into action. The burlier one advanced on Steve menacingly, then paused within arms reach. When intimidation alone failed to stir a reaction from Steve, the burly jumpsuit slapped Steve hard enough to make his head ring. It hurt, but Steve didn’t let that show. 

 

“Try again.” The Collector insisted. 

 

Steve got a kick this time; he distracted himself by imagining how it could be improved. More swing, he decided. Next, it was some kind of spiky electronic gadget that Steve supposed was supposed to be deadly to some lifeforms but which only inspired a feeling of discomfort in him. By this point The Collector was fuming, posture stiffened and dead eyes glinting. He extracted a stick with a heavy pummel from the folds of his cloak. Steve braced himself to be struck, but instead The Collector whirled around and whacked the pink girl across the face with it. A pained cry escaped her, clearly against her own volition; The Collector drew back to strike again. Steve winced. 

 

Instantly, The Collector’s eyes snapped to Steve. A slow, poisonous smile spread across his face. He clicked his fingers at the girl, who was trying to reign in the instinctive reaction to cry, and on command she knelt. 

 

“If you don’t answer my questions, I’ll beat her with this stick.” The Collector said. 

 

Steve looked to the girl. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

 

“Are you human?” 

 

“Yes.” Steve rasped. The Collector nodded, but he didn’t let the girl up. 

 

“Are you Captain America?” 

 

“Not anymore.” 

 

The Collector raised his stick above the girl’s head “What do you mean?” 

 

“I used to be.” Steve clarified “I gave it up.” 

 

The Collector frowned, but he did lower his weapon. The girl caught herself sagging in relief. 

 

The Collector turned to Steve’s captors once more “Very well, I’ll take him. You’ll get your credits.”

 

The lean jumpsuited person nodded. As if on cue, another pink girl emerged from amongst the tanks. She too avoided any kind of eye contact with The Collector, which confirmed to Steve that the servants wanted to be here as much as the creatures in the tanks did. When the girl had led the jumpsuits out of sight, The Collector turned back to address the one on the floor. 

 

“You may stand.” he said “And take this one to case one-hundred-and-three.” 

 

With one more piercing look at Steve, The Collector spun on his heels and strode off. The girl approached Steve, and began untying his hands. It occurred to him that he could very easily overpower her, but having noticed the tremor in her hands he didn’t know if he had the heart. Besides, The Collector had certainly lived up to his name and Steve couldn’t tell what sort of security measures his warehouse of horrors possessed. For now, it was best to play along and hope. 

 

When Steve stood, he had to pause for a moment to allow the pins and needles in his legs to settle. He took the opportunity to ask the girl if she was okay. She didn’t respond, perhaps too scared to or perhaps because she didn’t understand the words, and instead began to lead Steve through the labyrinth. He attempted to track their path, for all the good it would do him, but he lost focus quickly. His mind was too occupied shifting between pangs of shock, fear, and sadness as he registered the multitude of oddities trapped around him. Too soon, the girl came to a stop in front of an empty tank. Much like the others, it was an unadorned cuboid of thick transparent material, a light and two tiny, useless, vents set into the top. It was only barely tall enough for him to stand, not wide enough to lie down without curling up into a ball. Steve really didn’t want to step inside. But the imploring look on the girl’s face made him do it anyway. Bucky always did say he was a bleeding heart. 

  
The door shut with morbid finality.  


	5. Best Foot Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incapable of writing Bucky *not* as the angstiest guy in the house. I blame Sebastian Stan's soulful eyes, and apologise for bringing unnecessary brooding into what is meant to be an action fic (but I'm not sorry enough to take it out)

“Any news?” Bucky asked immediately upon entering the kitchen. 

 

Clint, slumped over the counter and attempting to inhale a week’s worth of caffeine in one go, received the comment with the gracious application of his middle finger. Bucky ignored him and turned to Wanda, who shrugged around the two slices of toast she was cramming into her mouth.  _ Great.  _

 

“No news is good news?” She offered, or at least attempted to; the bread stuffing up her mouth presented a significant obstacle. 

 

Bucky shook his head, leaning over her to snag an apple from the fruit bowl “Raised in a barn.” 

 

“More like a Hydra facility.” Wanda corrected, an impish light in her eyes. Bucky tampered down his amusement. 

 

“Rays of sunshine, you lot.” Sam commented, choosing that moment to return from his morning exercise. Bucky appraised his sweat slick shoulders and flushed cheeks enviously. God, he wished he had the liberty of going for a run. 

 

“Like what you see?” Sam teased. 

 

For a split second Bucky's heart seized. He pushed past it with a firm reminder to himself that  _ it isn't like that anymore _ . 

 

“You wish.” 

 

“No,” Sam said with a smile “I don't.” 

 

Well that sent mixed messages. 

 

Before Bucky had time to analyse them too closely, Natasha yawned her way into the kitchen and the day began. 

 

Because T’Challa liked Steve, and realised that attempting to actually use the Avengers for anything apart from physically preventing the end of the world was a wasted effort with their attentions so focussed on finding their friend, he’d relieved them of their regular duties. That left them with ample free time to solve what, at some point during the transfer between safe houses, had been dubbed The Steve Question. Of course, the majority of them being military people, free time consisted less of spontaneity and more of a rigorous schedule executed with the same amount of professional integrity that any opp would demand; to Bucky’s advantage, this involved four hours a day sequestered alone in the double bedroom the demands of space forced him to share with Sam at night, monitoring various radio frequencies. Like a spectre, he would sit and sift through snatches of other worlds, allowing the quiet babble of different voices discussing everything from murders to the mundane bureaucracy of a police force to lull him into a kind of trance. While his mind stayed alert to any clue of Steve’s whereabouts, it was also free to wander- to detach itself from the pressure of living in such close quarters with such near strangers after surviving for so long alone, to offer himself conjecture on the nature of Natasha and Clint’s  _ true  _ relationship, to daydream of his glory days and piece his love together into snatches of words. To reconcile the things his body did and the things his mind enabled with the person he once was and, God willing, the person he might one day become again. 

 

He could’ve sworn he never used to be so morbid. Then again he didn’t want to fall for his own front. 

 

Bucky was saved from having to disentangle his past bullshit from his recollections by the shrill ring of the doorbell. 

 

Adrenaline spiking, he sprang to his feet and darted out of the bedroom, arming the gun Natasha had taped to the wall beside the door as he went. He met with Clint in the doorway leading to the living room, and gave him a nod. This time, nobody was worried about the windows- they faced out to a sheer cliff, the only way to launch an assault through them being an air attack that they’d see a mile coming. What they were worried about, was the doorway. Or more specifically, how whoever had rung the doorbell got past the innumerable booby traps hidden along the garden path. 

 

It rang again. 

 

Wanda, closest to the door, began to call her powers to the fore at almost the same time as the rest of them raised their guns. From behind the reinforced wood, someone called “Anybody home?”, only to be loudly shushed by a companion. Normally, this would be the point at which Bucky would exchange a confused glance with Steve, but as it was he had to settle for expressing his befuddlement to the room as a whole. 

 

“What the hell?” he whispered. 

 

Clint signed something rapidfire to Natasha, who nodded curtly. 

 

Wanda stepped forwards, red flaring out from the palms of her hands to weave an intricate web of protective force between them and the door. Clint moved to flank the group, motioning for Bucky and Sam to do the same. Once they were in position, dancers holding themselves in pose, Natasha stepped forwards. With a series of sure, sharp movements she disengaged the locks and security measures sealing the door shut. As soon as the last red light blinked green, she hopped nimbly back behind Wanda’s forcefield and yanked the front door open to reveal...a bunch of kids. Four of them, to be precise; two boys and two girls, not one of them a day over nineteen. All but the sole Latina girl dressed in patriotic prints startled to see the guns trained on them- the blonde boy rippled green and shifted closer to the dark-haired one, who seemed relatively unperturbed for somebody wearing no armour except a flimsy looking cape. The white girl wearing purple simply cocked an arrow in a colour-coordinated bow in an insultingly lackadaisical manner. 

“Who are you?” Natasha demanded. 

 

“Well, we haven’t really thought of a name yet…” the dark haired boy shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck nervously. 

 

“He has but he’s embarrassed to tell you.” the arrow girl corrected. 

 

“Well, I’d like to-” 

 

“Enough.” Natasha cut them off “Tell me- individually- who you are and why you’re here.” 

 

“And remember,” Clint added in an uncharacteristically dark tone “That we have guns pointed at you.” 

 

The girl dressed in stars and stripes rolled her eyes “You can call me Ms.America.” 

 

“Hawkeye.” the bow girl said. 

 

“What?” Clint asked.

 

“No, not you. Me. I’m Hawkeye.” 

 

Clint blinked at her incredulously. 

 

She shrugged “You retired.” 

 

“For, like,  _ five minutes _ .” 

 

Natasha shushed him and pointed at the blonde/green boy. 

 

“Hulkling.” he responded dutifully. 

 

“Wiccan.” the dark haired boy added without prompting. His friends winced. 

 

“Whoever you work for isn’t too great at the names thing, no offence.” Sam said- an inquiry disguised as a comment. He was good at those. 

 

“We don’t work for anybody.” Ms. America said. 

 

“But you do work?” 

 

She inclined her head carefully, the subtleties of her expression lost to the flickering of Wanda’s shield. 

 

“So you’re vigilantes, then. Working outside of The Accords.” 

 

They nodded. 

 

“Why are you here?” Bucky asked suspiciously. With the mish-mashed codenames and costumes taking influence from Clint (in Hulkling’s purple rimmed vest), Steve (for obvious reasons), and perhaps even Wanda, combined with their illegal actions Bucky was beginning to dread that they might ask to be taken in. 

 

Not so. Instead Wiccan said “Is Captain America missing?”    
  


Bucky stepped forwards involuntarily “What do you know about that?” 

 

Natasha shot him a look in reprimand.  _ Play it cool. _

 

“He may be.” she said “He may not be.” 

 

“If the rumours are true and he is,” Hulkling continued “We can help you find him. Or,” he shrugged “Ms America can.” 

 

Bucky cast his eye over the group significantly. He couldn’t help but wonder how an apparently normal girl in a statement hoodie, a lanky teenaged boy, an admittedly slightly beefier one, and Clint’s usurper proposed to help what was arguably the world’s most proficient super-unit track down the bastards who’d managed to  _ steal  _ Captain America. Unless…

 

“You have powers, don’t you.” Bucky concluded, announcing nothing that the ex-Avengers hadn’t thought of themselves. 

 

Three of the teens nodded. Other Hawkeye shook her head. 

 

“Clarify.” Natasha commanded. 

 

They did. Apparently, Ms. America could open portals, Hulkling was a shapeshifter, and Wiccan could use magic- all of this presented with almost uninterested expressions, as if the revelation of superpowers was nothing more exceptional than an algebra test . Perhaps for them it wasn’t. 

 

_ You’re a long way from Kansas, Bucky Barnes.  _

 

“Oh, and then there’s Speed and Prodigy.” Wiccan added casually “Speed can basically run really fast, and Prodigy has pretty much literally all the knowledge.” 

 

“They sound like names for drugs.” Wanda observed, at the same time as Bucky said sharply “Where are they?” 

 

Hulkling gestured vaguely at the rugged landscape surrounding the safehouse. Bucky sighed. 

“Why aren’t they here, then?” 

 

Ms. America shrugged “Couldn’t fit them all on the doorstep.” 

 

“Yeah, about that,” Sam said “How did ya’ll get past the path of sure destruction.” 

 

“Portals.” Ms. America said, looking at Sam like he was dumb. 

 

“Sure,” he muttered “Portals.” 

 

“Can I check your minds?” Wanda asked “To see if you’re lying.I promise I won’t do anything bad.”

 

“Okay,” Wiccan agreed without hesitation “Why not?” 

 

The rest of the teens regarded Wiccan with familiar expressions of exasperation over his lack of instinctive suspicion, but assented easily enough themselves. Bucky felt oddly proud to note that Wanda started with Other Hawkeye, thinking tactically and making sure the girl really was the odd one out so they wouldn’t be met with any nasty surprises. From there, a thick rope of Wanda’s power wended its way along the row of teens, tendrils jumping on and off to gently probe their thoughts, ruffling their hair like a light breeze. Though the process was similar enough to Bucky’s deconditioning for him to feel a faint sense of discomfort as an observer, the group on their doorstep took it calmly. So calmly, that Bucky almost thought they’d get it over with without a hitch until Wanda’s powers finally came to Wiccan. 

 

In hindsight, it was a predictable outcome. But in the moment, nobody was prepared for Wanda to recoil with a sharp cry the moment her powers came into contact with Wiccan’s skull, or for the tidal wave of blinding light that flowed out of him in response. Nobody could have foreseen the way that the boy’s powers surged against Wanda’s protections, shooting up into the sky when it became the path of least resistance, or that as they ducked for cover Wiccan would slump to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. It would certainly have been impossible to predict that in the space of a few seconds two more teens would appear, and that the one word Wanda would manage to gasp would be “Hydra.” 

 

Bucky sprang up and levelled his gun at the dark-haired boy lying prone on the floor. Fleetingly, Bucky felt a moment of regret that his target was so young; that he looked so innocent, so guileless, and that his friends-who were trying to protect him- evidently loved him so much. But in a time when only the hard core of it remained, Hydra was Hydra. And the only thing of worth that Bucky had every truly excelled at, was shooting the bastards down. 

 

_ Inhale.  _

 

_ Exhale.  _

 

_ Aim.  _

 

_ F- _

 

“No!” Wanda yelled. Before Bucky’s finger could compress the trigger, the gun was yanked out of his hand by a concentrated curl of red energy. Sam’s, Clint’s, and Natasha’s clattered to the floor too. Bucky whipped around to stare at Wanda incredulously. 

 

“No,” she repeated, wavering where she stood. All her energy expended, Bucky thought “ _ He’s  _ not Hydra. His powers are.” 

 

“His powers are Hydra?” Bucky parroted. He had the distinct feeling that he was missing something. 

 

Wanda didn’t answer him directly. Instead she turned to Wiccan, who was being supported quite intimately by Hulkling, and said “You were orphaned when you were a child, weren’t you? And Hydra kidnapped you.” she nodded to the lithe blond teen in a green jumpsuit who’d materialised shortly after the power explosion “He is your brother. Twin.” 

 

Wiccan nodded weakly. Hulkling tightened his hold on him ever so slightly.

 

“Sounds about right,” Wiccan’s twin said, grinning cheekily “My name’s not Speed but you can call me it.” 

 

“That’s definitely a drug.” Wanda said under her breath. 

 

Ms. America glowered at Bucky and spat, “Are you gonna try and shoot my friend again, or are we gonna get on with this?” 

 

Rocking back on his heels, Bucky raised his hands in surrender “I’m sorry, Wiccan. That was an overreaction.”

 

Wiccan shrugged, almost jostling himself out of what Bucky was fairly sure had turned into nothing more than a hug.

 

“It’s okay, you probably have like PTSD and stuff.” 

 

Sam and Other Hawkeye both snorted. 

 

“Alright,” Natasha sighed, cutting off what was sure to turn into some kind of time consuming banter filled exchange “Now we’ve got that sorted, come in and tell us what you know.” 

 

After Wanda’s protections had dissolved with a fizzle,the teens obliged, Hulkling glaring at Bucky as he passed. 

 

_ Moody teens. Excellent. _

 

Once they’d all managed to cram themselves into the living room, Other Hawkeye perched without complaint on Ms. America’s lap, Natasha settled herself into the attentive posture she assumed during briefings and told them to 

 

“Begin.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending is a little abrupt, but I thought it'd best to split the section otherwise it would disrupt the chapter pattern (which is putting way too much thought into it, I know). Also, in case anyone was confused, yes I have changed the Young Avengers backstories.


	6. Freedom?

Time passed strangely in the tank, or maybe it would be more accurate to say that it didn't pass at all. It would be impossible to tell through the insidious mist that ensnared Steve's mind, derailing thought and splintering cohesion with terrifying efficiency.  _ The vents _ , Steve thought before he could forget the word,  _ the vents.  _

 

* * *

 

_ What was important about the vents?  _

 

* * *

 

Steve gave up movement years or hours ago. It hurt too much. He hadn't eaten in days. He hadn't drunk. There was no point: he couldn't break the tank, he could stand but he couldn't stretch. Better to just sit with his knees drawn up to his chest and shake. Shake and tremor and vibrate with all the nerve-jarring vulnerability of a tuning fork. 

 

* * *

 

_ The vents. The vents were at fault. Somehow.  _

 

* * *

 

His mind, like every other mind trapped to be dissected in a disordered body, retreated. Transparent walls were replaced with ill-defined panes of wood, constituting a half-imagined home; silence obliterated with the happy chatter of his friends living and breathing close to him. 

 

* * *

 

_ Is this how Bucky felt?  _

 

* * *

 

_ Bucky.  _ The Bucky inside his head was very similar to the Bucky in real life, save for one key difference. This Bucky kissed him. Softly in the kitchen on slow mornings, cheekily in the bathroom at night, swiftly and leisurely at all times in between, always tracing Steve's lips before they met with the same look in his eyes that Steve thought he might-  _ maybe-  _ have seen once or twice in the close, cold quarters of their war. 

 

Trust Steve to put an action to the colossal tangle of emotions in his chest only when the possibility of executing it in person seemed so far away. 

 

* * *

 

At some point, Steve cried. Or at least did as close to crying as someone severely dehydrated and subject to some kind of inhibitor could, which essentially consisted creating a series of hot, dry, hiccups. He wanted his mother. He’d thought of Sarah Rogers, and remembered her, but he hadn't viscerally and devastatingly yearned for her with the fervour of a five year old for years. Since he first woke up, even. 

 

The shock of it was almost enough to shut up his tears. 

 

* * *

 

He wanted Bucky, too. Part of him felt stupid and dependent to say it; he’d gone through far worse without him. Most of him didn't care, clinging stubbornly to the firm belief that Bucky would make everything better. If Steve was being quite honest, he usually did- it was as if Steve's heart and mind responded to his presence with a chorus of  _ he’s here, he gets you, he's got you, don't worry  _ in a way that would piss Steve off if he didn't love the idiot so much. 

 

He could only hope he provided Bucky with even half the same comfort. 

 

* * *

 

_ If you don't move, you’ll… _

 

* * *

 

It was only when Steve realised he'd found a family in the Howling Commandos that the epiphany came, though it wasn't quite as dramatic as all that. More of a gentle awakening: a tap on the shoulder and a little voice saying  _ oh, so friends  _ don't  _ make your stomach flutter. _ By then it felt too late to act. He's regretting that now. 

 

* * *

 

_ What’s that, stay alert, what’s that- _

 

* * *

 

Steve became aware of a change. Slowly, too slowly, he tipped his head back and let his eyes roam. Even that felt sluggish and wrong, his eyes swimming with water, head woozy like he’d been...like he’d been drugged. 

 

_ Oh. The vents.  _

 

_ And...and the change. _

 

He found it: there was a new light. A flicker. A luminescence, like the otherworldly fish Steve saw in nature documentaries, formed into a gracefully undulating blob floating serenely in the sky. Curiously, Steve tipped his head back to get a better look. Except his head kept tipping back, further and further until it was touching the floor and melting through and the taste of darkness was beginning to seem all too familiar. 

 

* * *

 

It was Steve. 

 

Bucky hadn’t believed the teens’ story, when they’d said they thought Steve had been kidnapped by roving bounty hunters from outer space. He hadn’t believed it at all. Neither had the other ex-Avengers, at least not entirely, if the facial expressions varying from perturbed to murderous were anything to go by. But then Wiccan had waved his hands and whispered some kind of incantation (in English, bizarrely) which made the air above Clint’s knitting bag ripple and bleed a sickly green that quickly stabilized into a flat window viewing a 3D world. In the background the shapes and lines of some kind of warehouse were discernable, but Bucky barely paid it any attention save for the natural surveillance- his eyes were drawn to the figure in the foreground that was undeniably, unmistakably, Steve. Steve in the profile of his face, Steve in the bones of his hands, Steve in the dishevelment of his hair, Steve even in the way that a rough few days had worked their way into the droop of his shoulders and ground a sallow cast into his skin. Galaxies away, Steve seemed to become aware of their eyes on him and- with an effort that had Bucky clenching his fists in ire- raised his head to look. Bucky’s heart caught on a beat, only to plummet to his feet as Steve’s eyes suddenly rolled back into his head and he slumped down, hitting his temple against the pyrex prison he was trapped inside. 

 

“We have to save him.” Bucky said, not bothering to suppress the tremor in his voice or acknowledge Hulkling and Other Hawkeye’s stares. 

 

Placatingly, Sam said “Bucky-” 

 

He cut him off, gritting out of clenched teeth “ _ Now.”  _

 

“We  _ all  _ wanna save him, man,” Sam tried again “But you’ve gotta admit that looks a bit fishy. I mean, alien bounty hunters? And are we sure that’s really Steve?” 

 

On that issue, there was no room for argument:

“I know him.” 

 

Sam huffed and crossed his arms, squaring up to Bucky like he was about to start a fight. With the mood he was in, Bucky just might take him up on the offer. Everyone else looked on warily. 

 

“How much do you remember of your childhood?” Sam asked. It was a loaded question, and Sam said it with enough aggression for it to be clear that he knew it.  

 

“Enough.” 

 

“Because,” Sam continued “I think all things considered you and me know Steve about the same and I am saying-” 

 

“No.” Bucky practically snarled, and he didn’t care that he was making a scene and the teens were edging away from him because he was a jealous bastard and he could never suffer anyone stepping on his toes when it came to Steve “We don’t. I know him more. I know him differently.” 

 

Sam’s eyes flashed with genuine anger “Just because you’re i-” 

 

Natasha coughed pointedly. When Bucky and Sam both turned towards her, she raised an eyebrow and glanced significantly over at the teens. Having vacated the blast radius, they were watching the argument with all the morbid glee you’d expect from a generation raised with reality TV. Bucky sighed deeply, taking one step back. 

 

He turned to Ms. America “Is there a way to get to him?” 

 

She nodded “We can take you there.” 

 

“We?” 

 

At least half of the teens simultaneously rolled their eyes. 

 

“Or,” Ms America sighed “I can open a portal for you, close it behind you, and you can go do your heroics with a clear conscience.” 

 

It was probably a bit hypocritical considering some of the things he and Steve got up to when  _ they  _ were eighteen, but “Sounds good.” 

 

Bucky was beginning to think eye rolls were teenagers’ sole mode of communication. He shrugged his annoyance off and turned to the others with a smile “Okay, I’m getting geared up and then I'm going. Anyone coming with?” 

 

“If you insist.” Natasha muttered, already turning to equip herself. Wanda smiled at Bucky and did the same, Clint just shrugged and wandered off. 

 

Sam, for his part, grabbed Bucky by the shoulder and said with the utmost sincerity “If this is a trap, I'm blaming you.” 

 

Bucky slapped his shoulder and went to get his guns. 

 

Ten minutes later, the ex-Avengers were assembled around a glaring hole in the carpet shaped like a five-pointed star, all in Wakanda’s plain black tac suits but all still equipped with their weapons of choice. Bucky thumbed the spare gun he'd brought for Steve, calming his anxiety slightly. He would’be brought Steve's shield too, if it wasn't locked away somewhere with Tony Stark. Bucky rolled his shoulders, took a deep, slow breath, and settled into battle mode. Without giving himself time for second thoughts, he marched forwards and fell through the portal. Instead of the tingling or nausea he was expecting, the only sensation was a freezing cold lancing through him, gone almost as quickly as it came the moment his feet touched ground. Bucky tensed, immediately alert. He’d landed in an aisle between two rows of boxes containing a variety of near-immobile  _ things,  _ some of which- the ones suspended above in particular- he recognised from Wiccan’s window. Steve was close, then. It took all Bucky had not to force himself to wait for the others to drop down beside him before he was running, and even then he didn't wait for them to catch up. Despite relying mostly on intuition, Bucky found Steve's prison quickly. Inside, his darling looked almost dead, curled up in a ball with his features lax, the rise and fall of his chest almost imperceptible. Abruptly, Bucky was reminded of Snow White. 

 

“Where's the door?” Clint asked. 

 

Bucky swore and started feeling along the edges of the tank. Wanda pushed him gently out of the way and began encircling the tank with red. 

 

“New trick.” She explained. 

 

Sure enough, the red began to permeate through the tank, working its way into mechanisms and subverting electronics. Sooner than it could've been done by hand, the door popped open and the vents inside powered down. A small device on the sleeve of Natasha's suit beeped twice. 

 

“Gas,” she said, bringing her arm up to cover her nose “Move back.” 

 

Bucky did, reluctantly. The moment Natasha's device beeped again to give the all-clear he was diving into the tank, pulling Steve’s head onto his lap, slapping his cheeks lightly. 

 

“Steve,” he called, giving him a shake “Steve, come on. Wake up. Now’s not the time for napping. Let me see those eyes.”  _ I need to know you're okay.  _

 

“Let him breathe.” Sam said from over Bucky's shoulder “Don't crowd him.”

 

“I'm not crowding him.” Bucky snapped, though he withdrew slightly all the same. 

 

Steve shifted, snuffling slightly. Bucky's focus snapped back to him, watching like a hawk for any sign that he might be suffering. By the way his eyes slowly fluttered open, roving around like he was taking in his surroundings for the first time, it seemed more like Steve was sobering up. 

 

“Hey,” Bucky smiled, mentally urging Steve on “It's me, Stevie, you’re safe, I promise, you're safe.” 

 

“Buck.” Steve croaked eventually, hand groping to clasp Bucky's wrist. 

 

“There we go.” Bucky crowed, trying desperately to suppress the urge to kiss that hand touching his skin.

 

“Come on.” Bucky stood, hooking hands under Steve's elbows to haul him up with him. Steve stumbled into Bucky's chest; Bucky didn't let him fall, instead pulling him into an entirely self-indulgent hug. Solid and warm in his arms, Bucky finally let himself believe that Steve was there. 

 

“Come on,” he repeated, choking down the obstruction in his throat “Let's get you outta this cage.” 

 

From there, it would be smooth sailing. 


	7. Substance, Not Style

The first few steps away from the tank were pretty quiet, Steve too out of it to speak and the rest of them too alert to make conversation. Strangely, the circumstances felt almost familiar; there’d been more than a few missions during the war that ended in Bucky lugging an injured Steve, half slumped against him and breathing on his neck, back to camp, and even one or two where their positions were reversed. The only differences were that instead of being flanked by the Howling Commandos, their party was led by Clint and Natasha with Wanda and Sam bringing up the rear, and they were trudging through the world’s most sinister Ikea rather than the Black Forest.   

 

Having said that, Steve was still Steve so Bucky wasn't exactly shocked when he broke the silence with a rasping “How’d you find me?”

 

“Teenagers.” Bucky responded shortly, scanning the top of the tanks for threats as he did. 

 

Steve cocked his head to the side in confusion, overbalancing as his swamped equilibrium failed to cooperate. Bucky grabbed him back, surreptitiously glaring at Sam as he snickered quietly. Sam held his hands up in surrender, a smile on his lips that said  _ what, me?  _

 

“A group of teenage superheroes in training helped us.” Wanda explained. 

 

“Oh,” Steve said “Nice.” 

 

“Nice?” Sam echoed “Isn't Captain America meant to say it's not a bunch of eighteen year olds job to be superhero-ing?”  

 

“Justice is everyone's job,” Steve replied “And they have the means to make a serious impact. Plus they're technically adults. Anyway,” he added ruefully “I’m not Captain America.” 

 

“Really?” Sam said. 

 

Suddenly, Bucky was gripped with the urge to whirl around and slap him. But that would stop them moving, so instead he settled for snapping “He’s Steve.” 

 

“ _ Bucky. _ ” Steve admonished, slapping him on the shoulder “Sam was joking.” 

 

“Was he?” 

 

“Obviously!” Sam burst out, “For fuck’s sake man, I'm not an idiot.” 

 

Bucky's blood ran cold as a strange voice answered “I would beg to disagree.” 

 

He had a gun trained on the source before his eyes had even fully registered it. When he did, he found himself confronted with the most ridiculous looking man he’d ever seen; his white hair stood up in a tuft on the top of his head, he had a frankly laughable goatee, and what looked like a high-tech supersoaker poised to shoot. All the same, Steve stiffened against Bucky and he found himself reacting accordingly, tightening his grip around Steve's waist and tensing to act at one wrong move. 

 

“Who the hell are you?” Sam demanded, appearing at Steve's right. 

 

The man clicked his fingers. Before Bucky had time to wonder what weapon he could have activated, some kind of maid appeared tentatively from the adjacent isle. The man barked instructions at her; she took the weapon from him, bony pink hands curling around it as if it would explode. Her aim wavered. 

 

“I,” the man announced with an elaborate bow “am The Collector.” 

 

Bucky’d met some pompous villains in his life, but none who’d gone so far as to hand their weapon to a subordinate for the sake of drama. 

 

“That's a  _ stupid  _ name.” Clint said. 

 

“I know!” Steve agreed. 

 

Bucky forcibly straightened the smile of argeemeant that threatened to spread across his lips. 

 

“What do you want?” Natasha asked, steely will under a veneer of calm. 

 

The Collector chuckled good naturedly, mouth twisting into a toothy grin “Why, to collect of course.” 

 

“What?”

 

“ _ You.”  _

 

Fuck it, the man was crazy. Bucky shoved Steve to Sam, advancing with the intent of introducing the psycho to his fist. But Steve resisted being shoved, darting forwards to hold Bucky back. 

 

“He’s hiding something.” He warned. 

 

“What? Why are you so suspicious?”

 

Steve fixed Bucky with a blank look. Arching an eyebrow, he asked “Why am I so suspicious of the cartoon villain who  _ seems  _ to have decided to face America's best superheroes armed only with a…” Steve gasped, screwing his eyes shut against what Bucky would guess was a wave of dizziness before he continued “ A jazzed up children's toy? You're a badass, Buck, but don't neglect your mind. I know you can use it.” 

 

Bucky flushed in pleasure; coming from one of the greatest tactical geniuses of the age, even the  _ suggestion  _ of admiration for Bucky's mind was pretty freaking nice. (That was Bucky’s story, and he was sticking to it nevermind what Steve’s eyes had to do with the sensation). 

 

“Not half as well as you, Stevie.” 

 

“If you are done flirting, there is a bad guy.” Wanda pointed out politely. 

 

Bucky cleared his threat and turned to face The Collector once more “So what's your game? What are you planning?” 

 

“Who are you waiting for?” Steve added “You’re not gonna put us all in a cage on your own. You can’t beat us in a fight on your own. But you're acting like you have perfect control.” 

 

“That, Captain, is because I do.” The Collector assured them with a look in his eyes that sent alarm bells ringing in Bucky's head. Sure enough, the Collector turned to the girl holding the gun, pointed at Steve and said- in English, purely for their benefit- “Shoot him.” 

Bucky threw himself sideways, swinging his metal arm up to deflect the weapon’s discharge. But none came. Instead, the girl simply continued to tremble, eyes wide and scared as she adjusted her grip on the gun spasmodically. Tears pooled in her eyes, her gaze darting between The Collector and Steve, who was an idiot and refused to stay behind Bucky even as his knees began to shake from the potent mixture of adrenaline and a weakened body. Cautiously, Bucky lowered his metal arm to stop Steve from advancing any further. None of the ex-Avengers lowered their own weapons; the girl continued failing to fire hers. 

 

“Shoot him!” The Collector ordered, features twisted gruesomely with rage “Now!” 

 

The girl whimpered, wincing painfully. Her eyes resembled those of a dog tied to a chain. Suddenly, Bucky really hoped he didn’t have to shoot her. 

 

“We can help you.” Steve said softly, catching the girl’s eyes with one of his most angelic looks “All of you.” 

 

_ All of them?  _

 

The girl gulped, exhaling slowly. Her features tightened; she’d come to a decision. Bucky readied himself to fire, adjusting his hold and steeling his mind. Around him, the others did the same. And in the centre, Steve stood gazing placidly into the girl’s tortured eyes. She fired. The Collector hit the floor with a garbled scream, grasping wildly at rapidly expanding hole in his chest. Acid, bubbling and sizzling through the fine fabric of his waistcoat straight to vulnerable flesh and through, until The Collector was nothing but a disfigured corpse.  _ He tried to use that on Steve,  _ Bucky thought. It made him sick. 

 

The girl regarded her former master with an expression of pure, unadulterated hatred. 

 

Natasha turned to Steve and whispered “Not that I’m not glad he’s dead, but you mentioned he was waiting for something- what?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Steve murmured back “But she does.” 

 

Natasha rounded on the girl, putting on what Steve had aptly described as her civilian interface  voice to ask “Do you know anything about what The Collector was planning?” 

 

She shook her head, girlish pigtails bouncing. 

 

“Can you speak English?” Wanda asked. 

 

“Yes.” she said, the vowels a little clumsy in the way that they would be if she’d learnt from someone who wasn’t a native speaker themselves “Little. You...help?” 

 

“Yes.” Steve agreed firmly “Can you take us to the others?” 

 

“Yes!” the girl perked up “Come.” 

 

“Wait up.” Clint interjected before the girl had fully finished turning “What’s your name?” 

 

Her eyes widened “Name…?” 

 

“What are you called?” Clint tried. 

 

She was panicking, Bucky could see, and had probably lost all track of what their words meant. Steve could see it too. He smiled kindly and laid a palm flat on his chest -“Steve.” He pointed to Bucky and introduced him, then did so for every one of them. Lastly, he pointed at the girl. 

 

Catching on, she introduced herself as “Ceniza.” 

 

“Ceniza, hello. Can you take us to the others?” Steve asked, complete with a dorky wave which at least made Ceniza smile. 

 

She nodded and began to lead the way. It wasn’t an enormous distance, but she led them so quickly in her anxiousness that by the time they arrived at the girls’ sleeping quarters Steve was flagging, face pale and teeth grit. Bucky fought back the urge to tell him to take a rest or slow down, berating himself for not thinking to bring an emergency ration or even some water to restore what had been absent from Steve’s system for days. However, in a way the deprivation of Steve’s body was appropriate to the setting. The quarters were spartan and tiny, four hammocks slung almost across each other in a space no more than four meters square, with nowhere to store the belongings they probably didn’t have and one primitive toilet, completely exposed. The only nod to civilisation was a large mirror hung on one wall, and Bucky was fairly sure that wasn’t there for the girls’ benefit. 

 

“Kurva!” Wanda swore quietly. Much like the others, she hadn’t entered. 

 

Natasha nodded in emphatic agreement, expression grim; they were all remembering something horrible in their lives, even Steve- though whether it was the winter he and his mother nearly died because her nurse's’ wage was slashed in half three times, or the time he was captured for a week during the war, Bucky didn’t know. 

 

“Where are they, Ceniza?” Steve asked. 

 

Ceniza said something quietly in an alien tongue. Slowly, one by one, three similarly pink girls stepped into view. They’d been standing against the wall, bodies so slight that they were completely concealed by the small overhang of the walls. Bucky swallowed roughly, watching Steve shove down a similarly repulsed reaction as he introduced them all and proceeded to charm the girls into trusting him. When Steve found out that none of them could remember their families, or knew anything other than slavery, Wanda broke, burying her head in Clint’s shoulder like a child. A long forgotten impulse had Bucky leaning over to pat her on the back. 

 

“If you come with us,” Steve was saying “We can find you somewhere safe on Earth.” 

 

“Or anywhere else. Any planet.” Bucky added. Steve looked at him questioningly- he mouthed ‘later’. 

 

“Any planet?” one girl asked. Bucky thought she was called Limpia. 

 

“Any planet.” he confirmed. 

 

“Our home?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Hey,” Steve said, slapping Bucky on the arm and pointing at the ceiling “I remember that.” 

 

Bucky looked. For a second, he was alarmed to see the floating light. Then he realised why it looked so familiar. 

 

He waved at it. 

 

“What is it?” Steve asked. 

 

“A window...thingy.” he explained ineloquently “The magic boy’s.” 

 

“Okay.” Steve said dubiously. 

 

Abruptly, the light disappeared and a star shaped portal took its place, causing the girls to shrink away in fear. Bucky had only just opened his mouth to explain that it was harmless when America jumped through and did the job for him. Really, he wasn’t even surprised that she could speak their language flawlessly. When she was finished, she turned to address Steve. 

 

“Hey, congrats on being alive. I’m gonna take these ladies to a relief centre on Rosado IV, then I’ll be back to pick you up, ‘kay? Cool.” 

 

Two seconds later, Ms. America and all four girls were gone, leaving Steve blinking sort of hilariously in their wake. 

 

“That was...quick.” 

 

“Young people. So much energy.” Bucky joked, knocking their elbows together. 

 

Steve stared hard at the point of contact, seemingly on the brink of saying something. Bucky held his breath. And that’s when the spaceship crashed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm so creative and original I stole Spanish words for the names of things so we've got 'ceniza' which means 'cinder' (cos Cinderella), 'limpia' which means 'she cleans', and 'rosado' which means 'rose-coloured'. Also I googled eastern European swear words and apparently 'kurva' means 'whore' and/or 'shit' in the Czech Republic and/or Slovakia which is more or less where I imagine Sokovia to be so...


	8. Love in The Time of Chitauri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I think this is the worst pun in any chapter title yet and I'm proud of myself for that (and I haven't even ever read Love in the Time of Cholera!)   
> Second of all, this chapter is kinda dodgy I'll admit but tbh I think it's the best it's gonna get (writing action scenes is hard) and it has the dramatic scene we've all been waiting for in it, so...

Steve swore violently as the warehouse roof bowed under impact, splintering to pieces with a painful screech, shrapnel erupting from the smooth ship's hull that formed the epicentre. Instinctively, Steve ducked down and threw his hands over his head, only to be shoved aside by a metal arm; seconds later a lance from the roof supports pierced the ground behind him. Vision swimming, Steve staggered upright- no mean feat considering the shockwaves that seemed still to be reverberating through his bones- and tried to assess the situation. No serious casualties yet,  _ thank God,  _ his team all able to escape the chunks of roof that threatened to crush them. Panic abating in the quiet that quickly gathered, Steve turned to follow- only to fall to his knees from shock as his ankle buckled from a surge of fiery agony. Bucky, as always, was with him in a flash. Jaw clenched against a grunt of pain, Steve waved him off. Bucky rolled his eyes and heaved Steve up anyway. Above them, the ceiling trembled.    
  


“We need to move.” Steve pointed out. 

 

“No shit.” Bucky shot back, as calm and self possessed as ever. Steve could’ve kissed him. 

 

“Guys, c’mon!” Sam called, gesturing frantically at the huge slab of ceiling in the process of detaching itself above them. Steve may have felt like he was on the deck of a rolling ship, but he had his wits about him enough to take off running, dragging Bucky along by his arm like they were kids getting in trouble with the matron all over again. Moments after they cleared it, the slab plummeted to the floor, a few shards of it flying out and peppering their backs. Beside him, Bucky winced, red trickling down his cranium. 

 

“Okay?” Steve gasped. 

 

“Surface wound.” 

 

They carried on. Steve was fairly certain that if Bucky was alone, he would be in the safe(r) zone by now, but Steve's uncoordinated legs were slowing him down. Guilty, Steve opened his mouth to suggest that he could make it on his own. 

 

Reading his mind Bucky growled “Not a chance.” 

 

Steve's reply was cut off by Natasha, screaming “Above you!” 

 

Steve yanked Bucky down and curled over him, hoping against hope that his body would be enough to shield him from tonnes of the space equivalent of concrete, heart jumping despite the gravity of the situation at the feeling of their bodies pressed together. He sensed rather than felt the roofing hurtle closer, heard someone cry out in shock, then...nothing. A moment of silence passed. Cautiously, Steve twisted around and came face to face with an-

 

“Is that an Ent?” Bucky whispered, disentangling himself from Steve. 

 

“I...I think so.” Steve replied. 

 

And apparently, it had saved their lives. 

 

“I am Groot.” The Ent informed them, before promptly hefting the slab its tree-hands had caught at the opposite wall. 

 

Slightly dazed, Steve found himself saying “Nice to meet you. Thank you.” 

 

“I am Groot.” 

 

_ Was it _ ...yeah. Yeah, it- he? it- was smiling. 

 

“Uh huh.” Steve nodded weakly 

 

The Ent took one step back, creaking like an old ship “I am Groot.” 

 

“Okay.” 

 

It seemed frustrated. If a tree could  _ be  _ frustrated, that was. 

 

“I am  _ Groot.”  _

 

Steve looked to Bucky for help. He shrugged. 

 

“That's-” Steve began, only to find he needed a moment to blink rapidly because  _ holy shit  _ that was a raccoon in a jumpsuit. Carrying a gun. A raccoon in a jumpsuit carrying a gun, scaling a talking tree. Steve wanted to tell himself he’d seen weirder, but that was getting harder to believe. 

 

“What he means,” the raccoon said, because of  _ course  _ it could talk too “Is that you’s people might wanna get moving before we’s people’s friends arrive.” 

 

A man almost as muscled as either Steve or Bucky appeared from behind the Groot.  _ At least this one looks human _ , Steve thought wryly, even if he was grey and covered in magenta shapes.

 

“They’re not my friends.” the man said in a deep, monotone voice “In fact they are my enemies.” 

 

The raccoon face- palmed with his tiny little hands. Steve was beginning to question reality. 

 

“That’s the  _ point,  _ Drax, I was using sarcasm.” 

 

“I am Groot.” the Ent added. 

 

“See!” the raccoon enthused “Even Groot thinks you're an idiot.” 

 

“I am not an idiot.” Drax mumbled, bearing a striking resemblance to a petulant child. 

 

Bucky tapped Steve on the shoulder. Slowly, they stood up and began backing away. 

 

“They are leaving.” Drax announced. 

 

“Good.” the raccoon said, hopping down from Groot’s shoulder deftly “They don't wanna get kidnapped again. Now let's go help Pete and Gamora with this ship.”  

 

Bucky froze, body tightening like a foxhound about to pounce. 

 

“What did you say?” 

 

The raccoon turned back around, rolling his eyes “ _ Now  _ he talks. I  _ said  _ you don't wanna get kidnapped again.” 

 

“So it  _ was  _ bounty hunters? And they're coming here?” 

 

The raccoon groaned in frustration, tugging at his ears the way a human might tug at hair “Yes! Now go or stay, I don't care. If you wanna fight a legion of Chitauri, that's your problem. And believe me, it  _ is _ a problem.” 

 

“Chitauri?” Steve repeated “I thought they were Loki’s?” 

 

A head popped up from behind a substantial piece of masonry “Who is Loki?” 

 

Drax turned to the head, which appeared to belong to a woman with feelers protruding from her forehead, and shrugged. The woman popped her torso into the open and shrugged back. 

 

Steve wondered how many people fit into that small a ship. He also wondered where the hell the others had gone. A glance behind him revealed Clint and Wanda more or less concealed behind the rubble, Sam and Natasha hanging back at the ready; they were all okay and they hadn't abandoned them, then. 

 

“Who’s Loki?” someone else echoed “More like who the hell is that!” 

 

It was almost a surprise when the speaker came into view and Steve saw that he was just an average white male American, jabbing a finger in Bucky's direction to emphasise his point. That surprise was belayed by the fact that his companion was green, but you couldn't have everything. 

 

“That's blondie’s boyfriend.” the raccoon said “They were all cuddled up.” 

 

Steve could've argued that they weren't together, and that besides the point their position on the floor was far from cuddling, but that would require acknowledging the apparent fact that a raccoon was something you could argue with and Steve wasn't prepared to go that far just yet. 

 

“Ace.” the apparently-human man said, before turning to Bucky “Nice arm.” 

 

“It is.” the raccoon agreed with a frankly devious look in his eyes. Bucky clutched his metal arm to his chest protectively.  

 

“So,” Steve said before anyone could get dismembered “What exactly is going on? Who are you?” 

 

The blond man smiled charmingly, but his attempts to appear suave were thwarted by the juvenile excitement with which he introduced his peers. The group was reportedly known everywhere as the ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ and consisted: Groot, apparently not an Ent; Rocket, apparently not a raccoon; Drax, whose surname was for some reason ‘The Destroyer’; Mantis, who was a touch telepath; Gamora, who like most of Steve’s friends was a former assassin; and finally Peter Quill-

 

“Star Lord.” 

 

“Hi.” Bucky said blandly because apparently he’d decided he was going to be grumpy today (which, quite frankly, Steve couldn’t blame him for). 

 

Quill deflated slightly at the lack of enthusiasm; Steve took pity on him and gave him a smile.

 

“Great.” Rocket, whose default setting seemed to be sarcasm, said “We’re all smiling at each other. I’m sure the Chitauri will respect that and turn around.”    
  


“But  _ why  _ are they coming?” Steve persisted. 

 

This time, it was Gamora who stepped up to the mark “You were only kidnapped because Thanos wants the infinity stones and he thinks you have one. But he couldn’t get you himself, so he hinted to The Collector that you would be very valuable and planned to let whoever The Collector hired do the work, then come in and take you from here.”    
  


Bucky narrowed his eyes suspiciously “You seem to know an awful lot about it.”    
  


“We keep up with the news.”    
  


“We’re renegades.” Drax explained.    
  


Bucky nodded warily. Just then, something electronic bleeped insistently- Rocket scrambled up to Groot’s shoulder again, and the others drew their weapons.    
  


“What’s that?” Natasha called. 

 

“Imminent arrival.” Gamora replied- the women’s tones were eerily similar. 

 

Mind already turning with logistics and maneuvers, Steve turned to Bucky, who shoved a gun at Steve and glared until he took it. Having clicked the safety off, Steve turned to his team and gestured them closer.    
  


“Odds are, they’re coming in through the opening made by the Guardians’ ship. Wanda, if you put up a shield it’ll slow them down, the rest of us take up positions around the entry point and shoot them as they come in.” he turned to the Guardians, who were all staring at him in mild confusion “Who’s in charge?” 

 

All of them but Mantis and Groot put up their hands. Steve rolled his eyes “Just do the same. Groot, you’re in charge of disabling their craft. Everyone got it?”    
  


They nodded and moved into position. Bucky, predictably, hovered beside Steve giving him an unimpressed look that was all too familiar. Steve sighed “Yes, you’re with me. Now let’s go.” 

 

They went. Moments later, the first wave of Chitauri zoomed through the opening amongst a scream of machinery, the thick wall of red Wanda threw up slowing them down as Steve predicted. From there it went according to plan, at least for a while- Chitauri falling almost as soon as they appeared, felled by arrows and bullets and laser guns, Groot shredding their hovercraft with animalistic joy. Steve was not at his prime but coping, aided by Bucky at his six and fueled by the resurgence of the panic he had felt when first confronted with the aliens in New York. 

 

Their edge didn’t last for long, though, because soon the assault from the opening eased off and- before Steve could even catch a breath- the teams were met with a surge of Chitauri flowing down the aisles in all directions, coalescing into a whirlpool of insect-like limbs and jeering skeletal faces. It was all Steve could do to stick with Bucky, ammo long gone and fighting with a commandeered Chitauri staff, punching and kicking when that too was ripped away from him. He had no idea where they’d ended up in the labyrinth of aisles, no idea where any member of either team was. But that was the Chritauri’s tactic: divide and conquer. It was working. Steve’s vision began to black out-  _ not now, not again _ \- and he paced backwards, trying to put a wall or a tank or something to the left flank he couldn’t see. Something grabbed him, and he struggled- but it was only Bucky, jabbing- jabbing a needle into Steve’s skin. It was like an electric shock, fizzing down Steve’s nerves and lighting them up. Adrenaline, probably part of the emergency protocols T’Challa- knowing, in all his wisdom, that Bucky would end up in a fight one day- had had built into the new metal arm. Steve shot Bucky a grateful look and fought on. 

 

Even despite the adrenaline, it wasn’t hard to see that they were being overwhelmed. Steve and Bucky had been backed into a corner, held at staff-point by Chitauri hovering above and herded by more advancing on the ground. In the distance there was a flash of gold light, quickly extinguished- a weapon Drax was carrying. It mingled with a spurt of Wanda’s magic, then blinked out. With effort, Steve managed to snap a Chitauri’s neck, hurling the body at another. Bucky succeeded in pummelling one more to death with his metal arm. It wasn’t enough. Steve didn’t doubt that even if they had orders to take them in alive for torture, the Chitauri wouldn’t hesitate to punish any further resistance with death. But what could they do? Steve sure as hell wasn’t going to sit by and let Bucky go through a second more torture than he already had, not on his life. This time, there really was no way out- Steve could feel it in the beating of his heart. 

 

Bucky seemed to feel it too. He turned to Steve, eyes filled to the brim with sheer desperation and something else. Something that looked, though Steve didn’t know what kind of intuition told him, like an exquisite brand of pain.    
  


“Steve.” he said, voice rough in a way that it usually only was in the wee hours of the morning, after a few drinks when it was time for secrets to out. 

 

“Steve.” he said again, softly this time, laced with pain and regret and- No. No, Steve couldn’t say it, even in his head. It wouldn’t be true. Bucky could never speak to Steve in  _ adoration _ . Except-    
  


“Steve,” Bucky continued, calloused hands coming to clasp around Steve’s head with a slow reverence completely at odds to the rush of words that followed “Listen- I have known you, and forgotten you, and known you again; I have avoided you, and clung to you, and got mad at you, and hurt you, and protected you, and hurt you again; I have... what I’m saying is-” Steve broke away to smash his elbow into a Chitauri’s face, mind whirling. When he turned back, Bucky drew him even closer, close enough that their breath mingled and Steve could see the individual tears welling up into Bucky’s eyelashes. 

“What I’m saying is, Steve you’ve been there all my life, for every moment in my life that mattered. And if this is the end of my life, then I need you to know, Steve- my darling, Stevie- that I have fucking  _ treasured _ you for every second of it and... I love you.” Bucky sobbed, tipping his forehead against Steve’s “I’m so in love with you it’s gonna kill me and I don’t even care. You have my life,” Bucky laughed wetly, slightly hysterically “Here it is, just-. Just, if, for some reason, you love me- and only if you love me- tell me. Tell me.”    
  


For a second- only a second- Steve couldn’t do a thing, staggered by the disbelief of having every precious feeling in his heart fed back to him with such fervour by the very object of his own monumental love. Then his brain took over and all he could do was tell the truth “I love you. I’ve loved you for years, I’ll love you for centuries, I’ll love you when the world ends and I’ll love you after that.”    
  
“I-” Bucky choked, but Steve didn’t let him get further than that. The Chitauri were drawing in, rank breath ghosting down Steve’s neck. They had seconds left; Steve wasn’t going to waste them on talk. Heart flying like it never had before, Steve bridged the minuscule gap between them, locking his lips with Bucky’s and drawing him into a kiss that seared him to the bones, rushed and sloppy but overflowing with feeling and absolutely perfect. Bucky gripped his shoulders, sure and desperate all at once; a staff jabbed into the back of Steve’s neck and he held Bucky tighter. If this was how he died, he’d die happy. 

 

So consumed by the moment as he was, Steve didn’t even notice the flash of blinding light until it had passed, and the grabbing limbs of tens of Chitauri quietly fell away. 


	9. A Little Less Action Please

Like most combat situations, nobody had any idea what had happened until it was over- and even then they couldn't agree on the specifics. To Rocket’s mind, they were on the brink of defeat until he cleverly scaled the tanks and threw his ‘special bomb’ into the Chitauri mothership. To Natasha’s mind, it was her application of a widow bite to the leader’s telepathic communicator that- in her own words- shorted out their brains in a chain reaction. Gamora thought her wicked skill with a sword saved the day, and Wanda was convinced it was her magic. In reality, it was more a combination of all four factors, combined with the others’ efforts and aided greatly by the arrival of their adolescent friends and assorted magical abilities. It was a tangled mess that would be a nightmare to sort out later, but at that moment Bucky, observing the bickering from the edges of the group, couldn't care less. He didn't even mind that he was bleeding in a variety of unpleasant places- all that mattered was that he was alive against all odds and, more importantly, that Steve was too. 

 

Steve who apparently loved him, romantically. Steve who, in the last desperate moments of the fight, had kissed Bucky with the abandon of salvation, as passionately as Bucky had declared the last sacred secret of his heart. Beside him, Steve reached out and looped his fingers around Bucky's; a quiet comfort as the adrenaline petered out and the crash began to shake both of them in its place. It would, Bucky thought, be especially bad for Steve- a surge of adrenaline into an already weakened system would certainly wreak some havoc in its wake. But it had been necessary. 

 

As Bucky watched, Steve snuck glance after glance at their interlocked hands, expressive features faintly lax in disbelief. Bucky didn't know why, personally- he thought it was clear to the world, his wife, and their pet dog how in love with Steve he was. It was practically written in his every action. As he thought it, Steve's eyes began to blur with oncoming unconsciousness. Bucky wrapped an arm around his waist to support him- he didn't really know how to keep him from collapsing except to talk and  _ hey, why not.  _

 

“Did you really not know I loved you?” 

 

Steve blinked heavily. When he replied his words were slightly slurred but intelligible “There were s’me glances. In the war. Thought they w’re wishful thinking.” 

 

Bucky gaped at Steve. He was expecting cluelessness but really? The  _ glances _ ? Of all the incidents in which Bucky felt his devotion most potently, the quiet times when he was helpless but to watch and absorb Steve's light were not the ones that he considered the most obvious. 

 

“Not the times I worked an eighteen hour day to pay for your medicine? Or when I skipped meals so you could eat? Not all those times I tried to convince you to stop enlisting?” 

 

Steve shrugged, face settling into its natural expression of guilt “You didn't have to. I never asked you.” 

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. This was an old argument, one that used to drive Bucky mad. But at least now he knew that Steve wasn't being ungrateful or grumbling because his pride was hurt- Steve was just as worried about Bucky as he was about him. 

 

“I know you never asked me, you never would. That's part of why I did it. Why I followed you into that war. Why I died for you.” 

 

And wasn't that the crux of the matter? That even buried under layers of conditioning, even lying prone on the floor of a Soviet silo with his arm blasted off, Bucky could not and would not refrain from expending every last ounce of his willpower, every shred of nonexistent strength, to keep Steve safe. Because Steve wasn't just a friend or a lover: to Bucky, he  _ was  _ love. Essential. Wonderous. Unflagging. Blinding. Untarnishable.  _ Good.  _

 

Steve's brow crumpled like he was trying to untangle a particularly complicated equation “When’d you die for me?” 

 

“When did I-  _ oh. _ ” Bucky actually gasped “Holy cow. You didn't realise that was what happened.” 

 

“What-” Steve trailed off, seemingly having forgotten what he was saying. His skin was clammy under Bucky's hand.

 

Bucky pursed his lips, debating with himself the relative merits of dropping that bombshell on Steve- Bucky knew he already blamed himself for Bucky's fall, but maybe the knowledge that it was an end he went to willingly would help assuage that guilt. Maybe it would make it worse. There was only one way for Bucky to find out. 

 

“Steve, if there's one thing I know for certain it's that I didn't act the way I did on that train for duty- at least not the kind of duty the eulogies talk about. Yeah,” he added at the look on Steve's face “I've read them. Fuckin’ weird.” he shook his head and got back on track “I wasn’t acting as Sergeant Barnes when I picked up your shield, I was acting as me. And I wasn't trying to play my part in defeating all of Hydra, I was just trying to save you. I wasn't intending to die, but I did and I would again. I love you. Don't feel guilty about it.” 

 

Steve’s eyes and mouth seemed to be caught between joy and agony, which painted a strange picture. Soon, Steve just gave up and planted his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck; not the most comfortable position, but one which sent a thrill through Bucky nonetheless. 

 

“‘Long as you stop feeling guilty about the Accords mess. Even if it wasn't mostly about the terms, you'd be worth the fight. Always were, always will be. Hey,” Steve kissed his shoulder lightly “d’ya think I shoulda realised I loved you when I marched into Azzano on the off chance you were alive?” 

 

Bucky laughed softly. Steve was ridiculous sometimes. “I don't know dear, should I?” 

 

“Maybe.” Steve huffed and unconsciously leant more heavily on Bucky “I didn't.”

 

Bucky kissed the top of his head “You didn't?” 

 

Steve shook his head minutely “No. Well. Maybe. I didn't properly realise until I started having domestic fantasies about you, but…” 

 

“Domestic fantasies.” Bucky said flatly, purely to see the eye roll in response. 

 

“You  _ know  _ I always wanted to get married.” 

 

Oh, he did. It was the bane of Bucky's existence; for all he would deny it Steve had always started planning his engagement the moment a girl smiled at him, and it always left Bucky stewing in directionless jealousy. (Although he was loathe to admit, Bucky's jealousy wasn’t always fruitless- it took decades of much worse crimes to stop him feeling bad about Susan’s dancing shoes). Frankly, Bucky didn't see the appeal himself, but perhaps that was because  _ he  _ had the self awareness to realise that for all intents and purposes he and Steve were already married. Bucky supposed they  _ could  _ make it official, but that would be a conversation better kept for when they were both fully conscious and not seeping blood all over the place. 

 

“I know.” Bucky confirmed, kissing Steve sweetly on the lips. Steve smiled dopily back at him, lifting up a hand to tug fondly at a lock of Bucky's hair. 

 

He jumped as someone squealed, heart rate quickly calming as he registered that it was only Wiccan, who was grinning at Steve and Bucky with an expression that was nothing short of overjoyed. Beside him, Hulking himself was looking a little misty eyed. Wiccan flushed under Bucky's questioning look. 

 

“It's just-” the kid said, flustered “You’re together, which is awesome, because you're two guys and... _ Captain America  _ is into guys.” 

 

Wiccan glanced at Other Hawkeye and America, who were holding hands, then at Hulkling, who leant down and kissed Wiccan on the lips.  _ Oh,  _ Bucky realised,  _ I see.  _ He imagined himself at their age, knowing he wasn't  _ normal _ , starving not only to tell or to touch but for the reassurance of knowing someone he trusted had gone through the same. He’d had no-one to look to, and couldn't ask, but these kids did- and that was worth a hell of a lot. Heart warming in his chest, Bucky turned to Steve. His face seemed somber at first, but once Bucky looked more closely he saw that Steve's eyes were sparkling with pride and a little nervousness as he too came to realise the significance of the situation, and the honour which had been placed at his feet. 

 

“Anyone ever trained you?” Steve asked them, because  _ of course _ . 

 

Bucky shook his head, sharing a commiserating look with Natasha. What were they gonna do with him? 

 

“No.” Ms. America replied, a challenge in her voice “Think you can do it?” 

 

“Think I can?” Steve echoed “I  _ know  _ I can.” 

 

Ms. America smiled and held out her hand to shake “Deal?” 

 

Steve took it “Deal. Think you can get us back home?” 

 

Ms. America winced “Well…” she looked to Wiccan.

 

He stepped forwards “We kinda...combined all of our powers into one mega power and it kinda...went kaboom.” 

 

“You...what?” 

 

“Honestly?” Wiccan said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly “I have no idea.” 

 

“Do any of you?” Steve asked, to be met with a slightly embarrassed silence. 

 

“There's no precedent for it.” Prodigy said, obviously feeling the need to elaborate.  

 

“Okay.” Steve sighed. He turned to the portion of the group containing the highest proportion of Guardians “You take hitchhikers?” 

 

Starlord shrugged “Why not?”

 

“Great.” Steve said, before promptly swooning like a Victorian lady. Bucky caught him under the arms and lowered him gently to the floor.    
  


“That don’t look good.” Rocket observed, with no small amount of morbid glee. Gamora flipped the back of his head; Natasha smiled approvingly. 

 

“Is he gonna be okay?” Hulking asked nervously.    
  


Bucky nodded, sitting down to slide his knee under Steve’s head “I’ve seen this happen once or twice.”  _ Experienced it, more than a few  _ he didn’t add.    
  


“Still,” Sam said, crouching down into a paramedic’s position “I’ll check him out.” As Sam began running his hands along Steve’s limbs to check for breaks, taking his pulse, prodding at his eyelids and generally doing what he could to ascertain what bits of Steve were broken, the Guardians drifted off to begin unearthing their ship. The teens remained, watching curiously. It was perhaps a little intrusive, but Bucky figured their intentions were supportive; Ms America kicked the sole of Steve’s foot lightly in encouragement.    
  


“I wish I had a medkit.” Sam muttered to himself, unaware that Bucky could hear “Who doesn’t bring a medkit to a rescue? Only my frickin’ job.”    
  


Bucky swallowed “I didn’t think to bring any food, so…”    
  


Sam looked up, startled. He gaped at Bucky like a fish that had suddenly found itself on a mountain top, then visibly shook himself. A sly grin took the place of his surprise “Are you saying I didn’t do worse than you?”    
  


“Yeah,” Bucky mock-sneered “Laugh it up. It’d be the first time.”    
  


“Keep on dreaming.” Sam replied, as if it was natural. It probably was- Steve had always been attracted to sarcasm “Just because you’ve landed yourself a boyfriend doesn’t mean you have no competition.”    
  


Bucky didn’t intend to react to that, he really didn’t. But his face must have formed a rather interesting expression, because two seconds after Sam had implied he might become involved with Steve romantically, he was bent over double in hysterics and the teens had taken a collective half-step back in concern.    
  


“Don’t worry,” Sam snorted, obnoxiously wiping an imaginary tear from his eye “I have very platonic feelings towards your boy. Trust me, that is not going to change. But on that note,” he added,voice deadly serious “I’m not afraid of you any more, so if you fuck him up any more than he already is…” 

 

“I immediately throw myself into the sun out of guilt.”    
  


Sam glared at him “Or I’ll do it for you.”    
  


“You really wanted that threat, didn’t you.”    
  


“Fuck you.”    
  


Grinning, Sam clapped him on the shoulder. The teens turned to whisper amongst themselves, Natasha kept watch over everything like the world’s most intimidating guardian angel, somewhere in the background the clanging of metal was interspersed by Gamora arguing with Drax, and somehow- impossibly- Clint had found himself a pot of space coffee. The world spun on, and for once in his life Bucky felt content to simply spin with it. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka the the-threat-is-over-let's-have-some-emotions chapter 
> 
> (This may *seem* like the last chapter but there's actually an epilogue and maybe a mission report if I'm feeling that creative when it comes to writing it)


	10. Epilogue: Beginning at the End

_ Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. _   
  


Steve groaned, awareness flooding in like a bucket of cold water. He scrunched his eyes closed and turned over, clinging stubbornly both to Bucky and sleep. They’d only gone to bed three hours ago, and even supersoldiers’ baseline requirements were higher than that. 

 

_ Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.  _ __   
  


But his work phone was calling, so he had to respond. If only to shut the insistent, grating, drone of it up. And, Steve whined to himself, he’d been having a nice dream, for once: a film reel of all his splintered but not entirely unpleasant recollections of their first trip with the Guardians of the Galaxy. Personal highlights included Bucky’s ecstatic face when they first exited the planet’s atmosphere, the way he turned to Steve with the memory of a flying car clear in his expression, watching Natasha and Gamora slowly bond to form the most formidable team of ex-assassins the universe had ever seen, talking to Quill only to discover that Steve no longer had the title of Most Out Of The Earth Loop Superhero, and finding that despite the close quarters all three teams could work like a well oiled- if slightly ill conceived- machine. In some ways, Steve missed the constant press of human activity, the group having split up because it became too large to live all together in any normal accommodation. On the other hand, having a space to share with just Bucky was a veritable gift. 

  
  


_ Buzz-  _ The noise cut off abruptly. Steve must have dozed off without realising, otherwise he'd have noticed Bucky move to pick the phone up. He’d always been the morning person out of the pair.  

 

Steve definitely noticed Bucky shaking him urgently when the voice on the other end responded to his gruff hello, however. Immediately alert, Steve shot up straight. 

 

“What's wrong?” he demanded. 

 

Bucky simply put speakerphone on and placed the phone across their touching thighs. For a moment, there was silence as the person on the other end paused at the lack of response. Then Sam’s voice rang out, loud and clear. 

 

“We’ve got a problem.” 

 

Steve nodded grimly, forgetting Sam couldn't see him. 

 

“Steve, we found the infinity stone. We found two of them.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Oh, it gets crazier than that. One of them’s in Vision.”  _ In  _ him? “But that's not the bad news- Thanos has found them too.” Steve's blood ran cold; Bucky stiffened, early morning lassitude thawing into icy focus in a flash. 

 

“And he's coming for them?” Steve asked. 

 

“With an army.” Sam confirmed. 

 

_ An army.  _ Steve's eyes snapped to Bucky almost without his permission, a deep, crawling fear swelling up from his gut and choking his heart. He found Bucky looking back, wearing an almost identical expression. Somehow, seeing someone else to comfort gave Steve the power to wrestle his fear away, choking it down like a pill. He picked up his phone, slipping easily into the persona of a commander to reply “Get Tony, the Dora Milaje, and Danvers on the line. Tell them I say assemble. I’ll deal with the Guardians, Defenders, and Young Avengers.” Bucky snorted at the name, as he did every time “We’ll need army and secret service cooperation, so get Natasha doing her thing. Bucky can contact Nick, and we'll start strategizing. Cap out.” 

 

Steve dropped the phone and rolled out of bed, already tugging his sleep shirt off to replace it with his tactical undersuit. He glanced back, frowning when he saw Bucky frozen in place, apparently deep in thought. 

 

“Get prepped, think later.” Steve instructed “We don't know how much time we have.” 

 

At last, Bucky moved, but not towards the wardrobe. He crossed the room to a heavy set of draws that Steve hardly went in because they'd been designated as Bucky's private space, and crouched to rest his hand on the lowest handle. Steve watched curiously. After a second of deliberation, Bucky gently pulled the draw open and withdrew what appeared to be a large portfolio. Slowly, he unzipped it and pulled out something Steve thought he'd seen the last of nearly two full years ago. His shield. It looked a lot better than it had done the last time he saw it; the scratches had been buffed and a fresh coat of paint had been applied, leaving it shining in the dim morning light. Wondering, Steve tore his eyes off the shield and transferred them to Bucky. 

 

“What-” 

 

“I was gonna find a ring.” Bucky said. He seemed nervous, fingers flexing around the bright red rim. 

 

Steve gaped, mind tripping over itself in an attempt to connect words with meaning. 

 

“A ring?” 

 

A smile flashed across Bucky's face like lightning, only to disappear just as quickly; a look of quiet nervousness replaced it. Before Steve could ask what was wrong, Bucky had taken a deep breath and slid smoothly to his knees. Or, more exactly, to one knee. A soft sound escaped from Steve's lips, which he had clamped together to prevent their trembling. Bucky caught the shield by its strap and held it out, tilted upright. 

 

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky said softly, watching him from under his lashes “Will you do me the absolute honour of marrying me?” 

 

Steve broke, tears welling up into his eyes. He brought a hand up to cover his mouth, couldn't help but laugh at Bucky's startled expression. 

 

“Yes.” He grinned, yanking Bucky upright “Yes, I’ll marry you!” 

 

“Good,” Bucky laughed “Because I put a lot of effort into that proposal.” 

 

Steve shook his head, still smiling, and drew Bucky in for a kiss. Too soon, Bucky pulled back and offered the shield to Steve again. 

 

“We’re not engaged if you don't take it.” He said “Hold your arm up.” 

 

Steve obliged. Carefully, Bucky threaded Steve's arm through the strap and looped it over his head so that the shield nestled comfortably against his back. When he was finished, Bucky stepped back and nodded in satisfaction. For Steve, the entire ritual felt almost unbearably intimate. More intimate, even, than sex. It was in no way the picture perfect proposal Steve had always imagined, but it was heartbreakingly beautiful all the same. 

 

Shakily, Steve wiped away his tears “You’re my fiancé.” 

 

“Yep.” Bucky nodded “You are.” 

 

“I thought you didn't want to marry.” 

 

Bucky shook his head, reaching up to trace the shell of Steve's ear tenderly “I didn't want to  _ avoid  _ getting married. I just didn't want to marry anyone but you.” 

 

Steve's heart swooped. He thwacked Bucky lightly on the side of his head “You can't  _ say  _ things like that.” 

 

“Why,” Bucky teased, twining their hands together “It makes you blush.” 

 

“That's exactly why you can't say it! We have a war to win.”

 

Steve had said the words in jest, but as they materialised they seemed to weight the air. 

 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, retreating “We do.” 

 

“I'm sorry.” Steve said. 

 

Bucky shook his head “It's okay. Just-” he turned on his heel, directing his next words to the wall “We’re gonna get through this, right? It's not gonna be like the last time? We’ll come home and we'll get married?” 

 

“Yes.” Steve said, emphatically- he knew he couldn't really promise it but… “Yes, we will. We’ll get home, and then we'll make an announcement. Everyone will freak out, but they'll help with the arrangements.” he bit his lip “I promise. We’ll get through it. I love you.” 

 

“I'm not sure fate cares about that.” Bucky said. 

 

“It must do,” Steve dismissed “Or we’d never have got together. Now-” he glanced at the lightening sky “We need to go.” 

 

“Okay.” Bucky agreed, finally starting to don his undergear. Soon, they were stood at the threshold of their small home, equipped with handguns and carrying their body armour in duffle bags over their shoulders. Fancifully, Steve thought of them as a pair of dashing rogues, Bonny and Clyde, debauching the world into art. The image didn't last. Instead, the moment hung as it was- two worn soldiers off to war again, not knowing if they would ever return. Bucky clapped Steve on the shoulder. 

 

“I love you too, you know. And-” he paused “For what it's worth, I'm not about to sit by and let some half rate deity split us up again. I'm with you, whichever way.” 

 

Steve didn't reply in words, but he knew Bucky understood that the sentiment was felt. They shared a look. Chins up, they shut the door and stepped forwards into the future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this the end! I've really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. If so, I would love for you to leave kudos and comments, and even- if you want to- rec it. Feedback is the artist's best friend! Even if you don't do any of that, I'll still love you though :)  
> Thank you very much for reading!


End file.
